


A Collection of Stories

by joongz



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Guns, M/M, Mermaids, One Shot, Post-Apocalypse, Rebellion, Royalty, Winter, bike racing, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joongz/pseuds/joongz
Summary: Just a collection of one shots!Chapter 1: Mingi/Hongjoong -First Love, College AUChapter 2: San/Seonghwa -Neo Seoul's King, Gang AUChapter 3: Yunho/Mingi -High Seas, Merman AUChapter 4: Yunho/San -Number 13, Rebellion AUChapter 5: Yeosang/Jongho -Waves, Merman/Royalty AUChapter 6: Yeosang/Mingi -Speed of the Heart, Bike Racing AUChapter 7: San/Seonghwa -Hands, Artist AU
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jeong Yunho, Choi San/Park Seonghwa, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Song Mingi
Comments: 61
Kudos: 225





	1. First Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Hongjoong is six he learns how to play the piano. When he is sixteen he meets Mingi. When he is twenty-two he understands love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [@blzmchkArthur](https://twitter.com/blzmchkArthur) ^^
> 
> This was supposed to be a college AU but somehow became something different, still, I hope you like it!!
> 
> (Also the idea is slightly based on First Love by BTS because reasons)

Hongjoong’s mother always had possessed the piano. It had been standing lonely in a corner of her apartment, unused and catching dust. She had thought she would learn its language and tell beautiful stories with it, but life had gotten in between that dream of hers. But she never had been ready to throw that dream out, or sell it.

Hongjoong had been born in November of 1998, in the middle of a cold winter. It had been her sunshine on the coldest day of the year.

To her delight Hongjoong had always found himself drawn to the piano, playing its funny and delightful higher notes, and then its lower and thunder sounding keys. He had giggled to himself, age four, so entertained by the instrument that he had not understood yet.

Two years later she had signed him up to piano classes and finally that dusty old dream of hers became her son’s dream too—they didn’t share many similarities, but that piano was enough of a link for them.

For years and years their apartment was filled by the beautiful stories Hongjoong told with his fingers. He could bring his mother to dance as she cooked, bring her to tears as she folded the laundry, make her hum comfortably while she worked through her paperwork… Hongjoong learned by eight that music was powerful, and with anything powerful a responsibility followed.

“Mom, I want to make music when I grow up,” he had told her by ten.

She had nodded her head—she had known this since Hongjoong had first opened the piano’s lid. She began saving up and looking into music programs so that her son could fulfil the first step of his dream in a decade.

When Hongjoong became a teenager, a silent monster creeped up to him. He first heard its voice when he was twelve, it whispered to him all night, insomnia it was called. At thirteen it took another form, sitting on his shoulders. Depression was its name.

It sucked him dry of all joy, of all inspiration, and his creativity hid on a dark corner of his mind. He sat for hours on the piano’s stool, unable to place his fingers on the white and black keys, unable to remember anything he had ever learned. He just sat there, his chest hurting, as he wanted to scream and cry, but nothing came.

His mother didn’t know what to do. She wanted to help him, but Hongjoong brushed her off. He couldn’t formulate how he felt— _what_ he felt—and he hated himself for it. Everything felt like it was too much. It was during that age, thirteen, that he stopped trying to understand the piano’s language. It pained him too much. 

It was at that age, thirteen, that he began to have the nightmares: he sat in front of a piano and stared at it and he didn’t know, he didn’t know what its keys meant, he didn’t know how to place his fingers… He didn’t know it anymore.

At fifteen their music teacher told them to play an instrument for class for an important grade. With a painful heart Hongjoong sat down on the stool. He was so much taller than the piano now, it was startling to realize. He put his fingers on the keys, a booklet with songs in front of him, and he played it hesitantly. He still remembered everything: he knew which keys were a bit looser because it was so old and out of tune—they didn’t have the money to tune it properly. 

Hongjoong played and played, hitting the keys with all his might, the pain within him was a flame, but it felt so good. It felt so relieving to tell this old friend of his what he was feeling, what he was going through. When he finally stopped, hours later, he felt lighter than he had in a long time.

At fifteen Hongjoong began playing the piano regularly again, pouring his soul into it. He began telling it everything he couldn’t formulate in words. He began feeling better. He learned at that age that music was his life, his love, his everything. He never wanted to give it up.

The year he turned sixteen brought change. A new boy started at his high school. He was tall and mean looking, but he had the most beautiful smile ever, his eyes crinkling and his whole face morphing into the purest expression of joy. It was another story Hongjoong told his piano—tunes of something soft and gentle, a lingering fear in the background.

“Do you want to be in a band with me?” Mingi asked Hongjoong two weeks after he had transferred. “I need a sick band to rival my ex’s,” he explained. “You said during English class that you play the piano.”

Hongjoong sat in wonderment, confused and a little flustered. “Okay,” he said. He never really said much—with words.

Hongjoong invited Mingi over to play the piano for him, show him his skills and if he was enough for Mingi’s revenge band. Mingi sat silently on the couch in the living room, holding a glass of coca-cola as Hongjoong’s mom spied on them from the kitchen. She was the only one that spoke the piano’s language, she had learned it through Hongjoong over the years, so of course she knew what meaning lay behind his songs. 

“Hyung, that’s sick!” Mingi exclaimed once Hongjoong was done.

“You think so?” he asked, blushing. He caught his mom spying on them with a delighted grin. He blushed harder.

“Yes! I need you to be in my band. You’re the best piano player I have ever met.”

And that was how Hongjoong became part of Mingi’s band. They were a tribute rock band, not the kind of songs Hongjoong liked to play, but it was fun—and there was Mingi, his fingers hushing over the guitar’s strings, always smiling in Hongjoong’s direction. Mingi had an incredibly stage persona, confident and hot—more often than not he threw winks in Hongjoong’s direction. It was a miracle that Hongjoong did not mess up his notes.

When he was seventeen he understood that he had a crush on Mingi, which meant he understood that he was gay—or at least not straight—and it terrified him. His mother tried to subtly tell him that it was okay and she supported him, she never outright said it with words, but she started to blast Queen and Prince and David Bowie and Elton John more often than not, saying she supported them. 

Hongjoong never told her with words, but he played _I want to break free_ on the piano, and she hugged him once he was done, whispering encouraging things to him.

Mingi was the second person he came out to, with words that time, because Mingi didn’t speak the language of the piano—the language of Hongjoong’s soul—yet.

“Mingi?” he called out. They were lying on the rooftop of Mingi’s apartment building on a spring day, watching the white clouds dance over the blue sky, a breeze caressing their faces.

“Yes, hyung?”

“There is something I want to tell you.”

“What is it?” Mingi asked as he turned his head towards Hongjoong, his gaze curious and patient.

“I—I think I might be gay. No, no. I definitely know I might be gay. Maybe bisexual. Something not straight.” He fought to find the right words, his fingers itching to have the white and black keys at disposition.

“Huh.” Mingi still looked at him, but his eyes were faraway. “That’s cool.”

“Are you—”

“Maybe.” Mingi shrugged, the motion looked uncomfortable due to the fact that he was lying down. “I haven’t really thought about it. Kinda assumed I was into girls because everyone else was.”

After that their relationship began changing slowly—or maybe it was just them as people that were changing—and Hongjoong fell deeper and deeper in love with Mingi as the time passed by. 

The responsibility of university and becoming an adult approached, and Hongjoong found himself less and less in front of the piano. Although he had always wanted to study music, the money didn’t allow it, and so, when Hongjoong graduated high school, he began working instead of studying. His mother was growing old and weaker, he didn’t want her to keep working as much.

Mingi began studying music instead. Hongjoong felt jealous but he never said it. He started living vicariously through Mingi, learning as much as he could by helping Mingi with his homework.

When Hongjoong turned twenty-one it became the worst year of his life. His mother died unexpectedly one day in June and Hongjoong was forced to sell his piano to cover all costs. He hadn’t played it in years, granted, but it had been a comforting friend to have, ready to catch him as he was falling. He moved in with Mingi then, who lived in a very small apartment near university campus, and it was Mingi who caught him then.

“What about your father, hyung?” Mingi asked hours after the funeral had finished. They were sitting on his small balcony, drinking.

“She never mentioned him,” Hongjoong replied, voice hoarse from all the crying. “There was never a need for him to be a part of our lives.”

Mingi stayed quiet. He didn’t have the most perfect family either, but his parents were alive and he had two sisters, and they all tried to understand him and his choice of studying music. They didn’t support him when it came to loving men and women—Mingi had come about two years ago, and when it hadn’t gone well he had gone straight to Hongjoong, seeking comfort, which Hongjoong had given him.

“At campus,” Mingi started after a short silence, “there’s this old piano. No one really uses it, they all got nice pianos at home or in the classrooms. Do you want to come with me tomorrow and play some?”

Hongjoong wanted to say no. He hadn’t played in years. Just like his nightmares he feared he didn’t know the piano anymore. “Alright,” he agreed instead.

The following day was terrible. As he sat in front of the piano he realized he had forgotten every song he had ever played. He tried to play _I want to break free_ , relive that memory with his mother, but he couldn’t. It had faded away. He cried then, vulnerable for everyone to see. Mingi stood close to him, sheltering Hongjoong from all the curious and prying eyes.

“Hyung,” he began softly. “I’m sorry.”

Hongjoong shook his head, not sure what he wanted to say.

He came back the day after that, and the following one. He came back day after day and built up a new trust with this piano he didn’t know. It was hard at first, it wasn’t only that he had forgotten the piano’s language, but it wasn’t _his_ piano. So many people before him had poured their stories into it and he could feel them.

One day, instead of trying to remember his old songs, he decided to just play. String together the keys because he knew they would sound good together, he knew the succession of these notes would emit a certain feeling. He began telling his own story with his own melody. It was on a whim and still something weak and hesitant, but he felt good when he got home that night, sitting with Mingi on the small balcony.

He was twenty-two when his own melody was finally finished. It was a retelling of his life, of the up and downs—his discovery of music, the love he found in his first piano, then the depression and the void during his teens, meeting Mingi and falling in love with him, adulthood breaking him and his dreams, his mother’s death… 

When Hongjoong came to an end, he thought he was alone still, but Mingi stood there, tears spilling out of his eyes, a peculiar smile on his face. He grabbed the straps of his bag before he approached Hongjoong. He sat down on the stool, facing Hongjoong.

“I love you, too, Hongjoong,” he said then, quietly, and leaned forward to kiss Hongjoong softly. 

Hongjoong hadn’t known that Mingi had learned his language, but he was relieved.

He kissed Mingi back tenderly.

“I love you, Mingi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!
> 
> you can find me -> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hhhjoong) 💛


	2. Neo Seoul's King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neo Seoul's Lesser Streets are ruled by three things: death, EV4SION, and the gangs. San liked to believe he was the king of all three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [@thrulightandark](https://twitter.com/thrulightandark)!!💛💛
> 
> A Sanhwa Gang AU!
> 
> TW: mentions of guns & knives, and violence.

There were many things San was good at, but perhaps holding his gun against the head of a sneaky man, looking at him with his eyes squinted, was something he excelled at.

“San,” Seonghwa said in a warning tone. He returned to their victim, “So, where’s our money, huh? We already gave you an extension.”

“I told you, it didn’t sell well,” the man explained, frightened.

“Then, where’s the drug?” San inquired, pressing the gun’s barrel more firmly against the man’s head.

“I—I,” the man faltered, swallowing thickly as he stared at the two gang members with wide eyes.

“You, you,” San taunted him, smirking.

“San,” Seonghwa repeated, but he pulled out his knife, its silver blade glinting in the ceiling’s light. “We gave you a month supply of EV4SION. You used to be so good at selling it, what happened?”

The man’s lip quivered, the answer ready to spill out of his mouth, but it was clear his loyalty had found a new home, far away from the gang San and Seonghwa belonged to. He shook his head, lowering it, aware that death was imminent.

San glanced at Seonghwa, who, without blinking, cut the man’s throat. Seonghwa leaned back, letting the body fall onto the floor listlessly. He cleaned his knife on the man’s clothes before he put his knife back into his belt. 

“That was easy,” he said, walking out of the room.

San looked at the man for a second before he followed Seonghwa out of the abandoned building—it wasn’t exactly abandoned, but its occupants turned a blind eye on San and Seonghwa, knowing it only meant trouble to get involved with them.

The older of the two was already waiting by their vehicle—an old motorcycle that had been modified many times. Seonghwa tapped his knee as he waited for San, the cold wind messing up his midnight black hair. He looked deadly, and beautiful. San had always thought that about Seonghwa, but these days there was something cold in his expression, something distant and far away. 

San joined him on the motorcycle, taking the seat behind Seonghwa. He moved his arms around his waist, tightening them slightly, and made a quick nod with his head, indicating Seonghwa that he was ready for departure. The roaring of the engine bounced off the walls of Neo Seoul’s Lesser Streets, frightening anyone that might have lingered in the darkness. No bikes were as loud as theirs, and no bikes installed as much fear as theirs.

They were The Pirate Kings, and no gang was as fearsome as them.

Another thing San was extremely good at was kissing. He prided himself in this skill—he had had his first kiss at seventeen, and ever since then he had practiced to become unrivaled. He liked to believe hardly anyone could top him. 

He was in the middle of pushing his fingers through someone’s hair when the door of the closet opened and Seonghwa stood in the threshold, holding the handle, an exasperated expression on his face. He threw daggers at San’s conquest, who made a quick escape, and then his withering stare turned on San.

“We’ve got another mission,” he said, curtly, quick to the point.

“I’m on vacation, hyung,” San protested.

“We don’t get vacation, San.” Seonghwa grabbed a fistful of San’s collar, pulling him out of the closet. “Meet me down in ten.”

“I don’t need ten,” San protested, passing his hands over his shirt to undo the wrinkles.

“Now that’s just embarrassing,” Seonghwa said, to which San rolled his eyes, following the older man down the corridor. He took notice that Seonghwa’s shoulders were drawn upwards, tense. He slowly started to realize that there was something wrong, Seonghwa never looked scared during their missions. He was fearless.

“What happened?” San asked then, hesitantly as they exited into the cold winter air. A harsh wind was blowing over the Lesser Streets, an eerie quietness hung in the air. Seonghwa kept silent, walking towards their garage. “Hyung!” San called out, half annoyed, half… _scared_.

San was fearless, too, but the unsettling aura around Seonghwa was strong and piercing, and could destroy that wall around San. Something very wrong was going on.

Seonghwa stopped in front of his bike, grabbing its handle tightly. He seemed to be mulling over something. When he turned around, his face was shadowed and his raven hair fell into his dark brown eyes, obscuring them. San had no way to read him.

“I’ve been… compromised,” Seonghwa finally muttered, looking up. His eyes were full of complicated emotions: fear, regret, guilt…

San swallowed. “What did you do?”

“I…” He cleared his throat, turning around again. “I might have betrayed The Pirate Kings.”

San’s blood turned cold. The winter air embraced him like a dying mother that hugged her kid for one last time. He shivered.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain.” Seonghwa’s voice sounded tight. “I have to leave, but I want to ask you—Come with me.” He still didn’t turn around. His broad shoulder seemed impossibly more tense, the leather stretching out over them. 

San wanted to reach out his hand, but at the same time he recoiled. 

They had grown up with The Pirate Kings, both finding a home and family in them. Before joining the gang they had been kids roaming the Lesser Streets, making ends meet. As Pirate Kings they had been powerful, feared, in control of their destinies. They had been kings—the kings of Neo Seoul. And now Seonghwa had thrown that away.

The older of the two turned around, something broken and pained in his expression.

“Please, San, I…”

But San shook his head, taking a step back. It was too much to process, to understand. He couldn’t just decide on the spot to abandon his whole life, even if it was for Seonghwa. He just couldn’t do it. He needed time to map this out, and besides, anyone that left The Pirate Kings didn’t survive. They didn’t allow deserters.

Seonghwa let out a long sigh, full of despair. He mounted the motorcycle, grabbing the handle with both hands. He turned on its engine, the sound of it filling the otherwise empty garage, drilling itself into San’s skull until a headache formed. 

“Meet me under the sun, on a full moon night,” Seonghwa whispered, giving San one last look. There was a hint of a smile there, something bittersweet, and San’s heart jumped. “It was a pleasure knowing you, San.” With those words he left, driving out of the garage.

San stood under the garage’s roof for a few minutes, unable to move. The Pirate Kings had been his whole life: his past, his identity, his saviours, his future… But watching Seonghwa leave had hurt more than he could have imagined. It had torn a deep wound in his chest, an invisible one, which meant there was no fixing it.

Once his legs could move again he ran to the mouth of the garage, peering into the night, but the streets were empty, the sound of Seonghwa’s bike’s engine long gone, only the barks of a dog far away resonated. It took him a moment to realize that it was snowing, thick and abundantly. Through the wall of white, in the far distance, San could see the Major Wall—it surrounded Neo Seoul’s Lesser Streets, keeping whatever was out there from entering the city. Behind him he knew was the Inner Wall, keeping the people roaming the Lesser Streets from the Inner Circle.

 _Hopelessness_. That was what he was feeling. He hadn’t felt that in years, not since The Pirate Kings had taken him in. 

_Meet me under the sun, on a full moon night_. The words held no meaning to San, but his mind kept replaying them. He didn’t know what Seonghwa had meant, but he knew that for as long as he breathed he would try to crack this riddle.

San prided himself in his skills, the vast ocean of skills he possessed. Intimidation was one of them.

“I’m not saying you should run far away, but the next time we cross paths, I won’t be so kind, kid,” he whispered; a twisted smirk transformed his face into something demonic.

The boy shrunk, his whole body shaking, and he tried to move, but San was holding him in place with a tight grip. He wasn’t done yet.

“San,” said his new colleague, warningly. “Boss said we should intimidate him, _not_ kill him.”

San knew he should let go, let the boy wander into the night, but he had become a monster in the past month. Ever since Seonghwa had left, San had become the most fearful member of The Pirate Kings; he sometimes suspected even his own boss feared him. No one could contain him anymore. The day Seonghwa had left and the first snow had fallen, San had begun to see the world in red.

“They told me I could find what I needed with you,” the kid spoke up, snot and tears mixing on his chin.

“Who?” San asked. Better get to the root of it, he thought.

“These men in _Under The Sun_ ”

Winter became colder then. Whether it was the world or just San that froze, he wasn’t sure, but something glacial settled deep into his soul. Under the sun.

“Repeat what you just said,” he demanded.

“I—I don’t understand,” the boy whimpered. Quickly San drew out his gun, pointing at his victim.

“Repeat yourself,” he said, slowly, menacingly.

“I said that these men at _Under The Sun_ said I could find—”

“ _Under The Sun_ ,” San echoed. “What is that?”

“It’s an underground pub. It’s just around the corner.”

San glanced up at the clouded sky, the full moon shining through from behind the wall, like it was a signal for him that just waited to be noticed. He laughed, darkly, yet oddly freeing. He attached his gun back to his belt and helped the boy up.

“Take me there,” he ordered.

“What? San, you can’t—” his colleague started to protest.

“Go home. I’ll take care of this,” San cut him off. He roughly pushed the boy forward. “Take me to this pub. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“O-Okay.”

The walk to _Under The Sun_ was quiet and unnerving, but San was anticipating an answer, a lead, a _something_. He had spent the whole month trying not to think about Seonghwa and his abrupt departure from The Pirate Kings. _His betrayal_ , as his boss and all his colleagues had put it, which San knew was the truth, but he had come to realize that Seonghwa had been far more important to him that he had initially thought. He had tried giving him up, had focused on his work, but those words— _meet me under the sun, on a full moon night_ —had reverberated through his mind on every waking hour—and in his dream too.

The truth he had understood was that he didn’t want to be a king if he’d be alone, without Seonghwa. They had met so long ago that a life without Seonghwa didn’t feel like a life, it felt like nothing.

 _Under The Sun_ turned out to be a very shabby pub, EV4SION being sold just by its entrance. The boy showed San inside, scurrying off when San gestured his hand in the air, indicating him to get lost.

He walked up to the counter and without wasting any time he asked, “Do you know where I can find Seonghwa?”

The barkeeper threw him a blank look. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“San. Tell him San is asking.”

The barkeeper’s face changed then, recognition and astonishment coloring his features. “Holy shit, you actually came. I told him it was in vain, but you—” He trailed off, taking in San’s expression. “I’ll go get him,” he said, moving away.

San waited, stealing someone’s drink. Suddenly a wave of nerves had overcome him. He had thought that it would be a shot in the dark, that it was some sick and cruel coincidence. He hadn’t actually believed that he would see Seonghwa again, but now he was.

When the barkeeper emerged again, he silently motioned at San to come over, jerking his chin in the direction of a well hidden door in the back of the pub.

“He’s awaiting you.”

San nodded his head and walked up to the door. He took in a deep breath before he opened it. Behind it wasn’t what he had expected to find. It was a room loaded with technical devices, some of which San had never seen in his life. Screens upon screens covered the walls, young men and women sitting in chairs, their fingers hushing over keyboards as they seemed to partake in something extremely important. Something San didn’t fully understand, but looking at the pictures and recordings of security cameras, seemed to involve the Major Wall and the Inner Wall.

In the midst of the chaos stood Seonghwa, already staring at San. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, but he looked guarded too. As though he didn’t quite trust San anymore.

The ex-Pirate King approached San, taking him to a more secluded area of the room.

“You caused quite a ruckus in my leave,” were Seonghwa’s first words.

“You left me no choice.”

“I asked you to come with me,” Seonghwa retorted.

“I didn’t even know where!” 

Seonghwa hummed. “I thought you trusted me.” Anger blinded San. “But I’m glad you’re here now. I hoped you would figure out the riddle.” The anger died down again, instead a wave of pain covered him completely, numbing him.

“It actually was a coincidence,” San admitted.

“Oh.” Seonghwa’s face fell. “So you don’t—”

He cut him off. “But now that I’m here, now that I get to see you again, I…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say; _how_ to say it. San never had been one to speak of his emotions. _They_ had never been those to tell one another what they thought or felt, they had been killers, gang members, there had been no place for love there.

Seonghwa seemed to sense his hesitation, reading his thoughts, and before San could even consider whether he wanted to lock open his heart, Seonghwa took the key and surged forward, his lips colliding against San’s. It was gentle, nothing like the kisses San had experienced in his past.

The way Seonghwa kissed him was with love, it was demanding but also telling a story; it was saying that he loved San and that San was worthy of love. None of San’s kisses had ever been out of love, they had always been out of want and need. But this… This was passion and something nameless and old, something forgotten on Neo Seoul’s Lesser Streets, which were reigned by death, EV4SION, and gangs. 

They had grown up on them, on their loveless concrete. This kiss was the opposite of that.

When Seonghwa pulled away, San felt like a different human. Someone he had never believed he could be. The world became something new then, not the world from before—in which Seonghwa had existed—and not the world in red—after Seonghwa had left. It was a third option, one San had never considered.

“I don’t care what your reason was behind coming here as long as you stay,” Seonghwa told him.

San stayed quiet for a moment, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He glanced around himself. “What is this even?”

“It is our journey to freedom. We’re on a mission to find out what’s behind the Major Wall. Leave Neo Seoul for good,” Seonghwa explained, still standing close to San. He gazed at him, hopeful, a smile on his lips. “Will you join me, San?” he asked then.

San’s heart took a leap, a leap of faith.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never read a gang au, much less written one, but uhhh i hope this was alright!! thank you for reading!!
> 
> you can find me -> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hhhjoong) 💛


	3. High Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a monstrous kraken destroys their ship, Mingi is saved by a merman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [@DMajor11961](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DMajor11961/pseuds/DMajor11961)!! 💛💛
> 
> Yungi mermen AU!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!!

“ _These seas don’t belong to the Gods or the humans, they belong to the creatures that live in them._ _Half human, half fish. They’re deadly, they’re beautiful._ _T_ _hey call upon you and drag you to a place no living human has been._ _When they sing, do not listen._ ”

Mingi has survived the sea creatures.

They were beautiful: long, flowing hair that blew to the wind of the high seas, their voices soothing and alluring. No one on the ship survived with the exception of Mingi. Ever since then he has wondered what set him apart from his crew members. Why he had to watch them getting ripped apart by those mythical creatures—their faces monstrous once the charm was over—as they spared him.

It has been a year since then and Mingi is back on the high seas. A different ship, a different crew, the same ocean—the same monsters lingering around. Mingi isn’t afraid of the ocean, it’s his home. After the attack of the deadly creatures, the urge to be on the ocean became stronger. He wants to see them again, wants to ask them. He needs to know.

It’s a foggy night with calm waves, the stars above peak through the wall of mist, like a tear in the sky. But Mingi knows that peaceful nights aren’t a promise on the high seas. He knows what lurks beneath that mirror. It’s precisely why he isn’t surprised when a monster rises high into the sky, its tentacles reaching out far up, around the whole ship, and they’re dragged down.

Down, down, down.

The screams of horror of the crew members fill the night together with the agonizing creaking of the ship’s wood breaking apart. The kraken makes no sound, only the splashing of water.

Mingi closes his eyes when the high seas take him. It’s how he was always meant to die.

Death is calm.

Mingi’s eyes flutter open, the sound of droplets of water hitting rocks is what wakes him up. The distinctive scent of ocean salt fills his nostrils. He seems to be lying on a soft and flat surface, when he sits up he makes out rock formations all around him. A cavern of some sorts.

“Oh, you’re alive,” comes the voice of a man. 

Mingi blinks, scanning the cavern, trying to discern the source of the voice, but it’s dark. He tries to recall why exactly he is in there.

Splashing sounds fill the darkness, Mingi can see something approaching him in the waters of the cavern. 

“I didn’t think you’d live,” the man says.

A white-ish light blinds Mingi suddenly. The stranger holds up a small mineral in his hand, it casts light around the cavern, the rocks sparkle beautifully. The shimmering water makes the stranger’s face look all mystical and peculiar. He’s handsome, Mingi notices. Brown hair that falls around his face effortlessly, deep brown eyes that hold a hint of concern, and pink lips curled upwards at the corners. He’s shirtless, defined arms and a toned chest on which droplets of water are snaking around into the waters of the cavern.

“Where am I?” Mingi finally asks.

The stranger cocks his head, not getting out of the water.

“You are… somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.”

Mingi frowns, not remembering any isle formation near where his ship was destroyed by the sea monster. He’s surprised he has survived that, but he supposes he has the stranger to thank.

“Did you rescue me?”

“I did. I tried to save some of your friends, but they weren’t so lucky. Sirens got to them, thankfully I could bargain with them and spare your life.”

“Sirens?” Mingi repeats, his eyes travelling down to where the bottom half of the stranger is still in the water. “Are you a—?” he begins to ask, but the stranger shakes his head, vehemently.

“No. I’m a merman.”

“Merman?”

“Similar to sirens, but less murderous,” the stranger explains. “My name is Yunho, by the way.”

“Mingi.” He tries to move, but pain shoots through his body. He looks down at himself and he can make out bandages covering his torso and legs. Yunho eyes him, interested. “For how long have I been out?”

“Four days. I have been taking care of you. It wasn’t easy. Merpeople are not supposed to mix with humans,” Yunho tells him, lifting himself out of the water to sit on one of the rocks near Mingi. His tail shimmers in the white light, it’s blue and purple.

It’s breathtaking.

Mingi has been out on the high seas for a very long time—his whole life—but he has never encountered something quite like Yunho. Even the sirens’s fake beauty couldn’t compare. He wants to reach out his hand and trail it over the tail, but of course he refrains from doing so.

“How long until I can move?” Mingi asks instead, averting his eyes.

“I would say until the next full moon,” Yunho replies, shrugging his shoulders. It’s a very human thing to do, Mingi finds. “I have no problem with taking care of you. It is dangerous, but I do not mind that risk.” His gaze is intense when he stares at Mingi, something beneath it that makes Mingi’s skin burn like a flame.

“Then I shall stay here, in your protection.”

Yunho comes back the following day with food. He changes Mingi’s bandages, applying a substance on the wounds that Mingi has never seen before. It’s cool, but takes away the pain in the span of minutes. From up close Mingi can see that Yunho’s skin shimmers similarly to his fish tail, as if he’s made out of water himself. 

“Why can you not be close to a human?” Mingi asks the merman before he leaves again.

Yunho glances at him. “Humans like to hunt us, kill us, and use us as trophies,” he answers, his face turned away, a shadow masking it.

Mingi has heard of it, of course, but he has never been on one of those ships that leave to hunt the sea people. He has always found it gruesome. Before Yunho can disappear into the dark waters, Mingi reaches out his hand to place it gently on Yunho’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. That’s horrible,” he says. “I appreciate you helping me out, knowing I could have been just like them.”

Yunho looks at him, quietly and blankly, but then a small smile makes its way onto his face. “You don’t look like them.”

“I don’t?” he asks, surprised.

“No. You might have a rugged appearance, but there is something peaceful about you. Even more so now that you have your eyes opened,” he explains, humming thoughtfully to himself. “When I saved you, you were awake, you know? You looked at me for a brief second before you passed out. Your eyes, they’re soft, not those of a killer.” With that he vanishes into the water, his tail silhouette shimmering in the white light—he has brought back some of those glowing minerals to put around the cavern for Mingi. 

“For how long have you been a fisherman?” Yunho asks one day, sitting on the rock, his tails moving forward and backward in the water, parting it quietly. Mingi has his own legs in the water.

“I was born on a ship. It’s in my blood. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else if not on the high seas,” Mingi answers.

Yunho smiles. “Then I hope you recover quickly so you can return to your profession.”

Mingi nods his head, unable to say that he has found a second home, there in the cavern with Yunho. He never thought it possible to love anything else that wasn’t being on a ship, out on the ocean, but he’s come to love this little world he has created with Yunho.

It’s a tormented night, a thunderstorm causing havoc outside, its thunder makes it hard for Mingi to fall asleep. He feels lonely in the cavern for the first time, usually Yunho is present during the time he’s awake. It makes him miss the company of a knit tight crew, their tales of the high seas and drunken banter filling the empty holes.

There’s another reason for Mingi to miss Yunho, of course. Over the past weeks he has come to appreciate the merman’s company immensely. Learning of the culture of the merpeople, sharing his own tales and culture with Yunho; it made him realize that there is so little he knows about the world. The world is huge and unexplored, and Mingi will never see it all—no man can. He realizes the preciousness that something like this holds—being in one place with one person, watching time pass by. 

He never thought he’d like it when time stands still.

He never thought he’d want to settle down.

But Yunho has opened his eyes to a whole new world of ideas and possibilities, he’s opened Mingi’s eyes to the wish of staying in that cavern together with Yunho until they grew old and wrinkly.

The dark waters splash against the rocks of the cavern, a familiar white shimmer seen at the bottom, the silhouette of the merman moving to the surface. When Yunho’s face submerges from the dark waters, his dark hair flat on his head, pushed back; water droplets caught in his eyelashes, dripping down his face… Mingi can’t breathe, Yunho is beautiful.

The merman pushes himself out of the water to sit by Mingi. He smiles in greeting, but it seems forced.

“You didn’t have to come. It must be dangerous outside right now.”

Yunho glances at him, detaching a satchel from his back.

“It is dangerous,” Yunho agrees, “out there.”

Mingi has only known Yunho for a short amount of time, but they grew close in those weeks, and Yunho is a honest and open person. It’s not hard to see that something is wrong.

“Did something happen?” Mingi asks, helping Yungo unpack the satchel. There’s food, fresh bandages, and the healing cream. His usual items. But in the bottom of the satchel there’s a napkin wrapped around something.

Yunho sighs. “They are onto me. They say I smell like a human.”

Mingi’s heart beats fast and painfully, nearly jumping out of his throat. He feels powerless.

Thunder cracks around them, making them both jump.

“I’m sorry,” Mingi whispers, covering Yunho’s hand with his.

“It’s okay. I do not regret it,” he whispers back, locking his eyes with Mingi’s.

The noise of thunder and the wild, wild high seas, as well as strong wind blowing about surrounds them, but it’s muffled thanks to the cavern they find themselves in. Their own little world. Silence stretches out between them, their gazes locked, and Mingi can’t fight the invisible force that pulls him forward, toward Yunho. There’s a faint calling within him—his heart—that tells him, that yearns, to taste Yunho’s lips, and so, without letting fear or doubt get in the way, he presses his own lips against the merman’s.

Yunho’s lips taste salty like the sea. He tastes like everything Mingi has ever loved—they taste of home. When Mingi is on deck of a ship he loves to let the wind whip his hair in the sky’s different directions; feel the sun’s warmth tickle his skin; the waves crash against the boat, making it dance to the sea’s will, creaking and complaining like an old man. 

Mingi loves the sea, it makes his heart aches, so it isn’t surprising that he loves Yunho, who is like the sea itself. Born in the waters like Mingi.

Mingi allows himself to touch Yunho: his skin, his hair… He’s cool to the touch at first, but the warmth soon becomes more present. Yunho’s cold fingers trail over Mingi’s skin, leaving a trail of fire behind. They’re fire and water merged together.

Love could be a challenge. Loving Yunho isn’t a challenge in Mingi’s eyes, in fact, he has never encountered anything easier. His heart feels light and heavy at the same time. But the circumstances are what make it a challenge.

“There’s the Heart of the Sea,” Yunho says when the thunderstorm is only a distant rolling of thunder and the high sea has calmed down. “It’s our life source, but it’s also… an oracle, if you will.” Mingi glances at him, his arm securely around Yunho, trailing patterns on Yunho’s skin. He listens intently. “There’s a legend that says, if you find the Heart of the Sea, it will grant you any wish you might have.”

“And what would you wish upon?”

“To be with you,” Yunho answers easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!
> 
> you can find me -> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hhhjoong) 💛


	4. Number 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yunho is the number 13, the number for rebellion.
> 
> But rebellion requires sacrifices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for curiouscat anon!!
> 
> A Yunsan AU! There was no setting so I decided to use a very old AU idea lol
> 
> hope you enjoy it!!

Growing up in the Headquarters (HQ#98) meant that Yunho had grown used to white walls, white ceilings, white beds, white everything. No specks of colors, no art, no music, no beauty in the world. After the Old World had ended, destroyed by humans themselves—the First Humans—there was now a new generation of humans, perfectly engineered, and they had decided to create an indestructible society. Indestructible by taking away anything that ever had given the First Humans purpose or meaning… 

They were soldiers. They destroyed what was left of the Old World. That was all they were.

Yunho was inquisitive by nature, which always had meant trouble for him, but it took a new form when he had gone on his first mission. It had been about two years ago. They had found a city buried in the dunes of The Wasteland, the traces of Acid Rain destruction everywhere. It had been a sad sight.

“13,” his superior had yelled, gesturing Yunho over. “Go in with 9943.”

The house had been beautiful—old and barely in condition, but _beautiful_. Yunho had stared in amazement at the carpet covering the ground, the decaying pictures on the walls, the wooden chairs and tables… A reflection of the Old World. It had pained him to burn it down, set it all off into a huge, burning fire in the middle of the abandoned city. 

But those were their orders.

 _That_ was Yunho’s purpose: destruction of purpose.

Unable to go through with such a harsh order, Yunho had begun stealing things from these houses, keeping relics of the Old World for himself: secretly reading books, admiring art underneath his bed’s blanket, letting his fingers run over a carved necklace… 

He often wished to have been alive during that time, when the Old World had been in full bloom.

Yunho knew that if he were to be caught it meant certain death: The Elevator—the air outside was poisonous, a few minutes exposed and one would die. The Elevator was an inescapable metal box that doomed one to exposure of the poisonous air. 

They weren’t meant to ponder over the Old World, for it could lead to rebellion. Own ideas led to rebellion.

Yunho was careful. The only one that knew about his secret was his roommate: 9943. He was a quiet and intimidating soldier, but Yunho knew for a fact that 9943 cared about the Old World as well. He often helped Yunho hide art in the old houses, away from their colleagues—from the fires of destruction. 

Yunho didn’t know 9943’s name, that was an odd privilege in the New World. Yunho wasn’t close enough with anyone in the Headquarters to know their names, and no one knew Yunho’s. Names were an accessory, a self assigned privilege at age 12, but that was all. 

They were their _numbers_ , that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t anything unusual to be out on a long mission. Sometimes a city was bigger than it seemed on the surface of The Wasteland, going underground and spreading out in a maze of tunnels. A certain danger came with those cities: Habitants. They were mutated creatures—some said mutated First Humans.

Yunho didn’t suspect anything, carrying out his superior’s orders as he tried to hide away some of the relics of the Old World with 9943’s help.

They were wandering through a tunnel, something called a ‘subway’ in the Old Language. Their guns were drawn out as these places tended to be infested by Habitants. It didn’t take long before they were attacked, but unlike any other mission Yunho had been on, this time around, the Habitants were too many in number.

The soldiers fought for their lives, the superior barking out orders as he tried to salvage his own life. It was mayhem.

Yunho was firing his gun wildly, hoping he would make it out alive, when someone suddenly grabbed his arms securely, dragging him towards a small opening by the side of the tunnel. Yunho struggled against the tight grip, but it was in vain. This was death, the Habitant would tear him apart any second now.

“Holy shit, calm down,” said the Habitant— _No_ , that wasn’t right. Habitants couldn’t speak.

Yunho threw his head back, hitting his attacker, who let out a yelp and released him. Yunho swirled around, grabbed the flashlight attached to his belt, and shone it at the stranger. It turned out to be a human, a man, to be exact. The most startling part about him was the fact that he wasn’t wearing a mask. He was as tall as Yunho with black hair and an extremely irritated expression.

“Man, San said you were a marshmallow,” the stranger protested, rubbing his nose.

“A what? Who is San?” Yunho asked, bewildered.

“San is…” Loud footsteps approached them. Yunho turned around, flashing his light at whoever it was that was coming at them. “That’s San.”

9943 appeared out of the darkness, mask gone and his gun held tightly in front of him. He looked relieved when he saw them.

“Mingi!” 9943—or San—exclaimed, delighted. His piercing gaze turned on Yunho. “13,” he acknowledged him briefly. “We need to leave. The Habitants are a good distraction, but once they’re taken out _they_ will come for us.”

“God damn it, San! You were meant to be careful!” Mingi hissed.

San glowered at Mingi. “I was!” he insisted. “I still don’t think they suspect me, but better safe than sorry.”

“I guess you’re right.” Mingi glanced at Yunho. “Are you sure this is 13?”

“Yes. That’s him. I’m positive. We’ve been roommates for two years.”

“My name is Yunho,” Yunho revealed, bothered that they were speaking about him as if he wasn’t _right_ _there_. 

San smiled, his eyes crinkling. Yunho felt something in him tremble, whatever it was, it was powerful—still quiet in this time and moment. “Okay, Yunho it is. My name is San, and this is Mingi.”

“Where are we going?”

“Right now, out of these tunnels,” San told him as he began moving in the opposite direction they had come from. “Then we’re taking you to The Cavern.”

“The what?”

“The Cavern. It’s where the Seed of Rebellion lives,” Mingi explained.

Yunho felt shivers run down his spine. The Seed of Rebellion had been a fairly big matter in the Headquarters, specifically HQ#98. There once had been a soldier, about three years ago, that had escaped the Headquarters. No one was meant to escape them. They had dubbed him the Seed of Rebellion, but Yunho knew him as number 12—or Hongjoong. He had taken two soldiers with him and, on his leave, had killed many soldiers as well as planted doubt within HQ#98 about the truth of what their superiors told them.

“You know Number 12?” he inquired after silence had fallen over them.

“Yes,” Mingi answered. “Hongjoong is my friend.”

“I haven’t met him personally, yet,” San added. “He requested you come with us, Yunho. He says you’re the true Seed of Rebellion. The one to set us free.”

“ _What_?!”

“It’s a long story,” San said, turning to look at him. “Number 13 is the number of rebellion in ancient texts from the Old World,” he explained. “And you haven’t exactly followed the rules now, have you?”

Yunho stayed quiet because he couldn’t exactly deny that. He had rebelled in his own quiet way, saving books and art and other creations of the Old World, but he had never thought that it would matter.

When they emerged from the ‘subway’, there was a vehicle waiting for them, its driver looked oddly familiar to Yunho. To his surprise Mingi ran over to the driver, greeting him in a rather intimate way. Yunho looked away when Mingi kissed him. _Love_ wasn’t something for the New World, their superiors claimed it was destructive and had led the First Humans to their doom. 

“That’s Wooyoung,” San explained. “One of the soldiers that escaped with Hongjoong. Mingi is the other one.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “They’re in love,” he added, quietly.

“In love? What does that even _mean_?” Yunho inquired, glancing at Mingi and Wooyoung.

“From my understanding it’s someone that brings out the best in you, but also challenges you. Someone that feels right. I don’t know. Haven’t fallen in love myself, I think.”

Yunho hummed.

“Okay, let’s go. Hongjoong is impatient,” Wooyoung said, beckoning them over to the vehicle. “This is 13?” he asked. Yunho nodded his head. “Nice to meet you, I’m Wooyoung.”

“Yunho.”

They drove off into The Wasteland, with nothing around aside from themselves—and some Acid Rain clouds in the far distance.

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me,” San muttered under his breath. It was night time, the sky above them was vast and full of stars. “Wooyoung?”

“The tank was full, I swear,” Wooyoung said, tapping the screen of the vehicle, where their fuel was down to null. “I don’t understand.”

“Uh, why is there smoke coming out of—” Yunho was starting to ask.

“ _Shit_! Get out of the vehicle!” San yelled, opening the door of the vehicle and pulling Yunho with him.

The four men ran in different directions, but when the vehicle blew up, they still were pushed by the wave of the explosion, making them fall onto the ground. A beeping sound filled Yunho’s head, a muffled voice followed.

“—okay? Are you hurt, Yunho?” San was asking him, his hands coming up toward him. He removed Yunho’s helmet to check up on him.

For a moment, Yunho felt himself panic without his helmet, believing that the exposure to the toxic air would kill him, but nothing happened. Instead he found himself taking in a deep breath, his lungs filling with the fresh air from outside for the first time in his life. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

San let out a relieved sigh and sat down on the sand, glancing into the distance where Mingi and Wooyoung were, both alive and seemingly well.

“Good.”

“We’re out on The Wastelands, without Alimentation, without guns—How is that good?” Yunho asked, sitting up as well. He brushed off the sand that had gotten into his hair.

“The Cavern isn’t too far,” San told him. “And Alimentation is a lie anyway.” He jerked his chin at the screen on Yunho’s wrist, his vital signs were lower than they had been hours ago. It worried him, but he hadn’t dared to say anything. Ever since he had escaped that tunnel with Mingi and San, he had started to understand that his whole life might have been a lie. “Those injections, they keep you alive, sure, but they’re nothing compared to _actual_ food. Plus they’re a tracking device too. Just another way to have you controlled.”

“I—What?”

“Yeah. We should’ve removed it, but I doubt they’re going to search for us. At least not immediately,” San explained, standing up. “Come on.” He reached out his hand toward Yunho, who took it, trusting him. It was all he had left: _trust San_. He pulled Yunho up and together they walked over to Mingi and Wooyoung. “You guys alright?”

Mingi nodded his head, but Wooyoung winced. “I think I broke my ankle.”

“That’s great,” San muttered, annoyedly, and frowned, staring off into the far distance, where the mountains lay. “Do you think you can make it to The Cavern?”

“Probably, but you and Yunho should go ahead. Mingi will take care of me.”

San contemplated his words. “Okay,” he finally agreed. He gave them both a look. “Stay safe.” He hugged Mingi tightly, then Wooyoung. “Let’s go, Yunho.”

“Thank you,” Yunho found himself saying, even if he wasn’t quite sure, yet, if he should be grateful towards Mingi and Wooyoung or not.

They only made it a few steps when a whirring sound pierced through the ever lasting silence and motionlessness of The Wastelands. One of the prototype helicopter models of HQ#98 was steadily heading over towards them.

“Oh, no,” Yunho heard Wooyoung mutter.

“What do we do?” Yunho asked, bewildered.

“For now, keep calm,” Mingi said, helping Wooyoung up.

“They’re going to know. We don’t have masks, we don’t—” San was starting to panic, but Mingi shot him a silencing look.

“I’ve got those temporary masks in my backpack,” Mingi said calmly. “Everyone put one on,” he ordered.

They stood still as the helicopter landed. Yunho eyed it warily; there was something off about it. He had worked closely together with the technological and development department, aiding in the creation of these prototypes. It didn’t look right.

A soldier exited the helicopter, his gun held high. “Are you part of the lost squad of HQ#98?” he inquired, his eyes flitting over them and then back to the burning vehicle behind them.

Mingi nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

The soldier squinted his eyes, his gaze returning to the car over and over again. “Where did you get that from?”

“We found it, sir,” Mingi answered, calmly. Wooyoung was growing impatient, shifting his weight slightly. He groaned as pain shot through his leg.

The soldier jerked his chin in Wooyoung’s direction. “What happened to him?”

“The explosion hurt him, sir.”

Yunho looked away from them, back at the helicopter.

“It doesn’t have guns,” he whispered to San. “They never go out on The Wastelands without guns.”

“What do you think?” San whispered back.

“I think something’s foul.”

“I think so too,” he agreed easily. “Mingi.”

Without any warning, Mingi pushed the soldier to the ground, swiftly taking his gun out of his grasp. He pointed it at him. Whirring filled The Wastelands again. Yunho glanced at the helicopter, where the pilot had turned on the engine, ready to get away from them before they attacked him too.

“Someone kill him,” Mingi hissed.

“On it.” San sprinted forward, unlatching his gun from his back. He stopped feet away from the helicopter, aiming the barrel at the pilot.

Mingi’s gun went off at the same time as San’s.

For as long as Yunho could remember, reading through the stolen books, he always wondered what swimming would feel like. Thread his fingers through the water, feel it engulf him in its masses… How it would taste and smell like. The way the ocean looked on photographs and paintings: a beautiful blue—sometimes dark, sometimes lighter—had made him wonder. This little lake wasn’t an ocean by any means, it probably couldn’t even be considered a lake. It was a small puddle at the bottom of a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns, but it was a _body of_ _water_. 

It was terrifying and exciting at the same time.

San grinned, taking off his clothes. Without a word he jumped inside, the dark water took him. For a moment Yunho feared that San was going to drown, but then he submerged. He beckoned Yunho over.

“Come on. It’s not that deep,” he said, moving his arms so that he stayed afloat. “It feels amazing. Better than all those books described. You’d love it.”

Yunho hesitated, staring down at San. He looked around himself, but they were alone. The Cavern’s people were upstairs, sleeping already as it was late. Yunho looked down at the clothes he had been handed upon their arrival at The Cavern, and with idle fingers he undid the buttons.

San stared up at him, waiting.

It was a strangely intimate situation, and Yunho could feel himself blush when he stood naked, his clothes a discarded pile next to San’s. He leaned forward, staring at the dark waters before he glanced at San.

“Come on. I’ll help you stay afloat,” San said, his voice soft and tender, like a breeze. There was no wind on The Wastelands, and Yunho only knew what a breeze was through books, but he imagined that San was a bit like a breeze: refreshing, gentle, a whisper on his skin that made the hairs on his arms and neck stand up… 

Pushing all doubts aside, Yunho jumped.

The water was cold and for a moment his whole body froze, he was unable to move or breathe, but then a hand gripped his arm, pulling him up. When Yunho’s head emerged from the water, he took in a deep breath, half panicking.

“I got you. You’re okay. It’s okay,” San whispered, gripping Yunho’s arm tightly. “Look, just move your arms like I do, and you’ll be fine.”

Yunho tried to mimic San’s movements and after a while it worked, it wasn’t as graceful as he had read about, or as easy as it looked when San moved, but it was something.

“Wow,” Yunho whispered, smiling to himself. He glanced at San. “Where did you learn to swim?”

San grinned. “I didn’t. This is my first time too.”

Yunho’s lips parted in surprise. “Then how—?”

“I guess I just have a natural talent for it,” San said, cockily. He flicked his fingers in the water, making droplets fly into Yunho’s face, who yelped, throwing his head back.

“You asshole,” Yunho complained, splashing water back at San, who just laughed.

They played back and forth for a while, until San swam up close to Yunho, grinning freely, droplets of water cascading down his face, getting caught in his eyelashes, snaking down over his lips, which were parted.

Yunho was overcome with a strong desire to kiss him. He had only ever read about kissing, it wasn’t something that humans did in the New World, in fact it was punishable. But they weren’t in the Headquarters, these laws and rules didn’t apply to them anymore. They now belonged to The Caverns and its people, they were part of the Seed of Rebellion.

Right now it was just _them_.

Yunho and San in the small underground lake, but the world was loud. Yunho reached out his hand with the intent to—do what? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore, all courtesy of San, who had spun his world upside down in the span of days. San reached up his own hand, moving it towards Yunho.

Their hands met in the middle, only their fingertips touching— _barely_. It was a butterfly light touch, something so urgent but feeble. Quiet and small, but it was a fire on Yunho’s body. It was loud and chaotic in his mind. His hand was shaking, he wanted to be closer to San, much closer than this, but he didn’t know what that meant. Closeness—emotional as well as physical—wasn’t something they had been raised with. It didn’t exist in the New World. 

But there they were, their fingertips touching.

San was staring at him intently, and Yunho couldn’t look away.

San’s fingers slowly enveloped Yunho’s, they were holding hands now, which was something so innocent, but it felt like worlds had been moved. It felt so incredibly immense in that small lake under The Cavern.

“Can I try something?” San whispered, his voice oddly hoarse, and all Yunho could do was nod his head.

San leaned forward, still holding Yunho’s hand, but his free hand took possession of the nape of Yunho’s neck, urging him forward. Their lips crashed together with a need that Yunho had never believed possible, a sigh of relief escaped San. The kiss was a breeze as well, as much as it was a fire in the pit of Yunho’s stomach.

San’s lips tasted the same as the water, refreshing and like everything Yunho had ever wanted. It was difficult, though, to kiss San and keep swimming. Both things were overwhelming him. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting on San’s.

“That was—wow,” he muttered out, unable to find his words.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, if I’m honest,” San admitted.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” San smiled. “At first I thought you were stuck up, but then… I don’t know. Over the years I just—I like you, Yunho. I really do. I don’t know when it happened, but that’s the truth.”

The rebellion was in full bloom, the sound of guns going off was all around them. Vehicles and helicopters disrupted the usual quietness of The Wastelands. It was complete chaos. In the midst of it all, Yunho, San, Hongjoong, and Mingi were trying to escape from the Headquarters. Hongjoong had pulled them aside in The Cavern for a special mission he needed their help with: saving a friend of his. A young soldier Yunho had always known as 3133, but his name was Jongho.

The first half of the mission had gone well, the second part terribly. During their attempt to escape, they had been intercepted. One of the soldiers had taken hold of Hongjoong, pushing him towards one of the Acid Fields nearby, as his companions held their guns at Yunho and the others. Yunho slowly realized that they probably weren’t going to make it out of this one, that they would die right there in The Wastelands—so close to freedom, so far away at the same time.

Someone needed to do something.

Yunho glanced at San, who looked back. He smiled at him, slightly nodding his head. San shook his head, imperceptibly, but Yunho stepped forward with his hands held high. One of the soldiers pointed the barrel of his gun at Yunho.

“Go back in line,” he ordered, but Yunho just smiled at him.

“Yunho!” San shouted, desperately, and tried to step forward too, but he was roughly pushed to the ground.

Hongjoong was fighting valiantly and fiercely against the soldiers, but he wasn’t strong enough, soon his face would touch the Acid Field and from there on it would only go downhill. No one ever survived the Acid Fields, they were deadly, as the Acid Rain.

“Mingi,” Yunho called out, the other looked over towards him, his eyebrows pulled up. “Jongho.” The youngest looked at him too. Yunho trailed his eyes over to the two soldiers trying to kill Hongjoong, then over to the soldier in front of Yunho.

If they timed this properly, they could manage to take out the soldiers. It was risky, but Yunho knew none of them would watch Hongjoong die.

Mingi nodded his head, as did Jongho.

Without a warning Yunho grabbed the soldier in front of him, pushing him towards one of the other soldiers, making them both tumble to the ground. Mingi grabbed the gun of the soldier guarding him, fighting for dominance for the rifle, as Jongho launched himself towards the soldier that was pining San to the ground.

“ _Fuck_!” Yunho heard San mutter under his breath.

The plan had worked, for the most part: Jongho had knocked out two soldiers, the third one was still fighting with Mingi, and the fourth one was crawling away from San.

Yunho held his gun at the two soldiers trying to push Hongjoong into the Acid Field. “Let him go,” he ordered.

One of them turned around, surprised by the turn of events. That moment of distraction was all they needed. Hongjoong jumped back, away from the Acid Field, making the three of them knock into Yunho, and they all tumbled to the hard ground. Hongjoong quickly punched one of the soldiers in his throat, leaving him to choke out short breaths, but the other soldier was quick in recomposing himself. He stood up, pointing his rifle at Yunho.

Silence came quick then, as though no sounds had ever disrupted The Wastelands.

“Yunho, no!” San screamed. He was next to Mingi, checking up on him. Jongho stood paralyzed, staring at Hongjoong and Yunho.

Perhaps the rebellion would fail because the Headquarters were too strong. Perhaps their rescue mission to save Jongho would fail because they had been ambushed and outnumbered. Perhaps they were going to die on The Wastelands within the next minutes. Perhaps it had been all in vain.

But Yunho could try. He was the number 13, the _true_ Seed of Rebellion, and he was well aware that sacrifices were required—especially during rebellion.

With a deep breath, he walked up to the soldier pointing the rifle at him, until the barrel was directly hovering over his heart. He grabbed the metal tightly, and waited.

Seconds later the sound of a gun going off resonated through The Wastelands, followed by San’s scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me -> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hhhjoong)💛


	5. Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the day Yeosang and Jongho getting married, Yeosang learns the old lesson that you can't hide from your past—or family, for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [@SlyWonwoo](https://twitter.com/SlyWonwoo) !!💛💛💛
> 
> A Jongsang Mermed AU!

Jongho is ten when he meets his first mermaid, merman—merboy. _Merperson_. It’s also the first time that he meets Yeosang.

Jongho is down in Busan, with his father, over the week and of course he’s playing at the beach, building the greatest sandcastle in history. It’s November so he isn’t going to swim, but playing with the sand is enough for him. The waves crash at the shore steadily, bringing interesting things with them.

“Hello,” suddenly comes a voice.

The waves brought Jongho a boy around his age. He has dark brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes. Even if he very obviously comes from the water, his hair is dry.

“Hi,” Jongho greets back, cocking his head curiously. With a sudden startle he sees that the boy does not have legs. “Um?”

The boy giggles. “Sorry, should’ve warned you. I’m a merman. My name is Yeosang.”

Jongho has heard of them: the people that live in the sea. Over the past decade the laws for merpeople have been discussed, trying to find a common ground for humans and merpeople. A protection for the merpeople, so that they don’t get hunted; and the reassurance to humans that the merpeople are in fact not going to take over the world and destroy humanity. It’s been a rocky ten years, with ups and downs, but the coexistence in between the two species has worked out better than anyone would have expected.

Jongho’s father even told him that there are cases of humans and merpeople falling in love, often ending up with the merperson tearing their heart of the sea out. (It isn’t anything like the human heart, it’s more like their essence: something that deeply connects them to the ocean. Comparable to the human soul.)

Jongho points at his toes, wiggling them. “Well, I’m a human.”

“I can see that.” Yeosang giggles once again. “What’s your name?”

“Choi Jongho.”

“Can I help you build that castle?” Yeosang asks after a beat of silence.

Jongho nods his head eagerly.

For the rest of the week Jongho meets Yeosang down by Busan’s beach. He promises Yeosang that he will be back soon, which happens about half a year later—after he begs and begs to his father. A friendship builds up in between the two boys, but Jongho’s father tells him he can’t afford so many trips to Busan, so Jongho and Yeosang use the _Merpost_ —a service that was introduced about six years ago, to facilitate mail in between humans and merpeople.

When Jongho is fifteen he finally sees Yeosang in person again, this time Yeosang is waiting for him by the shore of the sea, standing on human legs. Jongho’s eyes are wide with surprise. He runs over to his friend, hugging him tightly.

“How are you—?”

“Someone I know made a potion. It will only last for two hours before I have to go back into the ocean.” He smiles gently, linking his arm with Jongho’s. “Let’s explore Busan, shall we?”

They walk around, always near the beach, and get ice cream, and matching bracelets; Yeosang buys a touristic hat for Jongho, and Jongho buys Yeosang a shirt that says ‘I heart Busan’. When the two hours are up they sit by the shores, the waves crash over Jongho’s legs, gently—as gently as Yeosang is. The merboy is at a distance, splashing his tail around to annoy Jongho, but the younger doesn’t mind, splashing his feet in retaliation.

“Jongho,” his father calls out when the sun is setting. “It’s time for dinner.”

Jongho stands up, dusting off his shorts. The sand rains down to where it belongs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he questions.

Yeosang’s face falls. “I can’t tomorrow I—There’s a ceremony held for the prince of our people. It’s our duty to attend,” he explains.

“Oh.” Jongho nods his head. He doesn’t know much about the merpeople’s history, they’re slowly starting to learn about it in school. “Then the day after that?”

“Yeah! Goodbye!” Yeosang disappears into the ever growing dark water, his tail shimmering in the last rays of the sun.

“You like him, don’t you?” his father asks, grinning as they walk to one of the beach restaurants.

“No, I don’t. We’re friends!” Jongho insists.

But his father is probably right, he really does like Yeosang.

The college’s campus looks incredible. It’s a fairly modern building, with the latest equipment. Jongho can’t wait for his classes to start, to get his hands on all the different devices. To learn and learn.

He’s nineteen, starting his first year as a Marine Biology student, taking a side degree on merpeople and their living conditions in the ocean with the environmental impact of humans. He’s spoken a lot about it with Yeosang over the past decade, and it’s been a great motivation for him to study this, to make the oceans cleaner, to save them. At the student reception stand Jongho waits to get his books, class information, as well as which residendency he’ll be staying in, and more importantly, with whom. He hasn’t met his roommate yet.

He walks up to the two students sitting there, who hand out the information.

“Hi. My name is Choi Jongho. First year, Marine Biology,” he introduces himself.

“Ah, Choi Jongho-ssi.” The older boy repeats, checking the list in front of him. “Oh, you’re the one sharing his room with a merman!”

Jongho’s eyes widen in surprise. He heard about it, of course, in the news a few months ago. Merpeople are now allowed to attend university with humans.

“Really?” he inquires, excitedly.

“Yes. I’ve got his name right here,” the boy says, shuffling his papers to find the right document, but just as he opens his mouth a familiar voice calls out for Jongho.

“Jongho!”

Yeosang stands there, in the midst of the students. He looks about the same as he had the last time Jongho visited him in Busan, about half a year ago, except his hair is dyed blonde. It’s always strange to see him without his tail, to see him dressed in pants. He waves his hand at Jongho.

“Yup, that’s him. Your roommate,” the boy says.

Jongho is rendered speechless. Yeosang did say he had a surprise for him, but Jongho would have never imagined that they would attend university together, much less be roommates. His heart beats fast in his chest, and his hands are clammy as Yeosang approaches him, a blinding smile on his face.

“Hyung,” Jongho squeaks out, embarrassed when his voice cracks.

“Long time no see,” he says, moving forward to give Jongho a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after the pull apart. He tries to smoothen down his clothes and make sure his hair is not a mess.

“Studying, of course!” Yeosang exclaims, excited.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise!” Yeosang smiles, slinging his arm around Jongho’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s search our dorm.”

Jongho is still rendered speechless and surprised to protest, so he tags along, feeling safe and comfortable by Yeosang’s side, if not a little flustered. 

“What—What are you studying?” he finally asks, when they’ve crossed the threshold of the dorms’s building.

“Same as you. Marine Biology. I figured it makes the most sense for me, plus we get to be together,” he adds, grinning at Jongho, his eyes sparkling like the sea when the sun shines down onto it.

Jongho allows himself to smile, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. _Together_.”

It isn’t surprising when, five months later, they kiss under the moon, up on the rooftop of their dorms. Yeosang prepared a picnic for them, saying there was something important he wanted to tell Jongho. The important words: _I am in love with you, Jongho_.

It’s a dream come true for Jongho. All that pining and lovingly staring after Yeosang; all the teasing done by Wooyoung and San, it paid off. He’s dating Yeosang, his miracle from the sea.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Yeosang says after a while, the two of them sitting close to each other, their shoulders and knees brushing against one another, their fingers laced together, as they stare up at the endless sky—as endless as the sea.

“Shut up!” Jongho protests, shoving Yeosang lightly. “I was so mortified all this time, thinking that you just saw me as a little brother.”

“Oh, believe me, I do _not_.” Yeosang grins mischievously. Jongho swallows, his heart beating fast.

“Well, I’m glad,” he says, pleased. 

“I can tell.” Yeosang looks at him for a moment before he leans over again, kissing Jongho tenderly.

At twenty-five they get married, it’s small and unofficial, but their closest friends attend. They hold the wedding in Busan, by the beach, with the waves coming and going, the sea’s wind sweeping Yeosang’s hair around his face like a halo, and he looks like a prince. Jongho is lucky to have him, to love him.

Jongho doesn’t question why Yeosang’s family isn’t present, or any of his friends from the sea. Well with the exception of Hongjoong, a serious looking merman with fiery red hair and intense looking eyes. Yeosang jokes that Hongjoong is more like a bodyguard than friend, to which Hongjoong just glares at him, not commenting on it.

Whatever Yeosang’s reason is not to bring his family, he doesn’t let it ruin the day. Some families aren’t worth bringing along in life, and Jongho respects that. He doesn’t ask Yeosang about them.

“I love you,” Yeosang whispers at the altar, gently holding Jongho’s hands.

“I love you too,” Jongho tells him, smiling so hugely he fears his face will split in two.

When the wedding celebration is over and most of their friends are in the hotel they rented for the event, Yeosang and Jongho are down at the beach still, building a sand castle together like they did when they met, giggling freely, overjoyed and completely at peace.

“Yeosang,” comes Hongjoong’s voice suddenly. The merman looks up, sobering up instantly at the serious expression on his friend’s face. “They’re growing more insistent. I don’t know for how long I can keep pretending not to know about your whereabouts…”

“Hyung,” Yeosang protests, glancing at Jongho. Over the years Yeosang never has shown fear or doubt, but in that instant he looks terrified. 

“Yeosang, you _need_ to tell him.”

“Tell whom what?” Jongho inquires.

“Tell _you_ about Yeosang’s _roots_ ,” Hongjoong clarifies, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Jongho looks at his husband, sensing his discomfort. “If he doesn’t want to speak of his family, I respect that. He doesn’t owe me an explanation—”

“Jongho,” Yeosang cuts him off. “Hongjoong hyung is right, I’ve been keeping huge secret from you and, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I wanted to ignore it for as long as I could, but it seems, I no longer can pretend.”

Jongho feels the waves grace his feet softly, coming and going, but it suddenly feels cold. The breeze blowing turns like ice, freezing him on the spot.

“What is it?” he finally asks, swallowing against the fear crawling up his throat.

“It’s about who I am. Remember when we met?” 

“How could I ever forget.”

“It was during the week of my coronation. I’m the prince of these seas,” Yeosang confesses. Hongjoong has a stern look on his face—it makes sense now that Yeosang joked about him being more of a bodyguard, he probably is. “At fifteen I struck a bargain with my mother. She’d allow me to become human for a decade, if I did come home at twenty-five to take over the throne.” He looks at Jongho with so much guilt and sorrow, his lips twisted downwards.

Jongho swallows, trying to control the first wave of anger that visits, and the second one of betrayal. He takes in a deep breath. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Yeosang looks down at the sand between their toes. “I—” He hesitates. “I don’t know.” Jongho can feel the tears in his eyes already, the ring on his ring finger suddenly feels heavy. “I just wanted to ignore it, run away for as long as possible. I love you, Jongho, and I want to stay here—with you. I don’t want to go back. I was scared of telling you because then, our love would have had a deadline. It wouldn’t—We would have constantly been aware of the day the spell ends. I didn’t want that.”

Jongho lets out a long sigh, flopping down onto the sand. He places his head into his hands, grabbing his hair tightly to understand the situation, to understand Yeosang’s reasoning.

“I… I guess I can understand why you acted that way. I don’t know what it’s like to have that kind of responsibility pushed on me. To have my life taken away from me so that I can fulfill a role,” he finally speaks up, trying to control his voice, to keep it from breaking. “But you should have told me, Yeosang. We would have tried to find a solution. _I_ would have tried to find _something_!” He’s almost shouting now, his heart hurting. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he adds in a whisper.

Yeosang sits down next to him, his hand hovering millimeters from Jongho’s, waiting for his approval. Jongho peaks at him and with a sigh he takes Yeosang’s hand in his, their silver rings shining brightly against their tanned skin.

“I’m sorry, Jongho,” Yeosang apologizes.

“It’s not too late,” Jongho says. “What about—What about your Soul of the Sea?” he asks, quietly. 

Yeosang swallows. “That’s a possibility, yes.”

“But? I’m sensing a ‘but’.” He now looks directly at his husband, searching his face.

“Yeosang, no,” Hongjoong interrupts them. “As your guard and advisor, I must—”

“Hyung, it’s not your choice,” Yeosang interrupts him, sharply. He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes. “The Soul of the Sea. If I get rid of it, I’ll be human, that much is true, but I’ll forget _everything_ , Jongho. I’ll forget you.”

“Oh.”

He balls his hands into fists, clenching them. His heart is beating fast, as if he’s underwater and running out of air. “Why can’t you do both? Take over the throne and stay here with me?”

Yeosang smiles, sadly. “I wish that was possible, but there are strict rules for the royal family. I—would have to betray my people to be with you.”

Jongho shakes his head, feeling dreadful. “No, I can’t expect that of you. I _don’t_ expect you to do that.”

“It’s my choice, Jongho. If I do make this choice, it’s mine, not yours, not because you made me do it.”

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong protests again.

“Hongjoong hyung,” Yeosang counters, standing up, softly untangling his fingers from Jongho’s. “Tell my mother I’ll meet her on the winter solstice, when the spell is over.”

Hongjoong nods his head and without another word walks into the sea, his legs vanishing in the darkness of the water, soon transforming into a beautiful fish’s tail that shimmers in the moonlight.

Yeosang turns to face Jongho, his face serious, but his eyes are full of love. “Jongho, do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” he answers, a bit offended at the question.

“Even after all of this?” Yeosang inquires, a bit surprised.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I trust you, too,” he says, meaningfully. “Please come find me here on the winter solstice. I won’t remember you, Jongho, but I’ll still love you. I’ve fallen in love with you once, I’ll fall in love with you twice—I’ll always fall in love with you. You have to trust that.”

Jongho felt hot tears burn in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. They tasted as salty as the sea. He nods his head, leaning forward to kiss Yeosang.

“I’ll be right here,” he promises. “I’ll wait for you.”

Yeosang squeezes Jongho’s hands tightly before he leaves like Hongjoong, walking into the ocean, his legs transforming into a fish tail soon enough.

The waves once brought Jongho the love of his life, now they are taking him away again; but the waves come and go, crashing steadily at the shore, and Jongho knows they’ll bring Yeosang back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me -> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hhhjoong)💛


	6. Speed of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingi is the King of bike racing, has been for years, but then a new challenger approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [@woosansmom](https://twitter.com/woosansmom) !!💛💛
> 
> A Minsang bikeracing AU!
> 
> tbh I don't know much about bike racing or the wild hunt BUT i thought it would be an interesting combination lmao
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!!!
> 
> (I'm sorry it took so long to write it dhjsds)

Everyone had their addictions; those that denied this fact, were lying.

Mingi’s addiction came with the night, when the city lights took over the world in a spectacle of soft yellow, shrill white, bright neon lights; when the icy wind of the night crawled under his jacket and seeped through his bones; when the air smelled of rust and gasoline and smoke, and the rumbling of engines sounded like thunder in the distance.

When the riders came out of their hidings and met in a clearing of the forest.

This was Mingi’s throne, when he felt most elevated and understood, when the racing of his heart and the shaking of the bike beneath him, tangled together became one. When he became one of the riders, wind whirling past his face, sharp and unforgiving.

He couldn’t imagine a life without this.

He was their king, the riders looked up to him—they had for a _very_ long time.

“A challenger has come tonight,” came San’s voice, one of his closest friends and riders. He jerked his chin at a figure looming at the edge of the forest, surrounded by shadows. The headlights of his bike shone threateningly, almost blinding Mingi. He couldn’t recognize much except for a lithe figure dressed completely in black, his helmet on.

Mingi grinned. It had been a while since the last challenger.

 _Yeosang_. Yeosang had been his last challenger, a year ago.

The reminder stung, but Mingi chased the name out of his mind, shaking his head so it would dissolve like smoke in the storm. Yeosang had challenged him, Yeosang had lost, Yeosang had left.

That had been his destiny, the crossroad in which they had parted ways.

“Tell him to come forward. I’m ready to take my baby on the road,” Mingi told San.

San immediately marched up to the challenger, his figure splitting the headlights in half, a large shadow growing in the dead of the night. They talked for a while, their voices muffled by the wind. The challenger approached, but did not remove his helmet. He simply nodded his head at Mingi in greeting—acknowledgement? respect? courtesy?—and climbed on his bike. 

There was something incredibly unsettling about him, about the tinted glass of his helmet, which Mingi had no possibility of piercing through. Mingi watched the challenger with rapt curiosity, trying to make out what kind of rider he was, if he knew him perhaps; but it was impossible to tell what kind of rider stood in front of him.

The only clue was that the challenger was nearly two heads shorter than Mingi.

 _Yeosang_. Yeosang had been short and delicate, but fierce and calculative, and always a witty comeback on the tip of his tongue. Well. Until he had slowly withdrawn, grown quieter, become a stranger to Mingi. 

“I challenge you to a race,” Yeosang had calmly stated, a year ago, when the two of them had sat on a tall skyscraper watching the sun set behind the city.

Mingi had been confused at first, then betrayal had slithered its way into his mind.

“Why?” he had asked. “What is your price?”

“I demand no price,” Yeosang had told him. “There is no price for the heart, all it wants is freedom.”

His words hadn’t made sense, still didn’t. 

“What do you mean?”

“If I lose, I leave.”

Mingi’s heart had jumped at that, shattering like glass the moment it had hit the ground. “ _Leave_?!”

“Yes.” Yeosang’s face had been partly shadowed. The sun had made his tan skin glow beautifully and his eyes had been so dark and mesmerizing, but there had been that darkness too. That shadowed part that Mingi had not been able to see.

“And if you win?” Mingi had asked.

“You’re the king for a reason, aren’t you?”

Mingi had clenched his fists, protest on the tip of his tongue, but he hadn’t said anything. There was a rule: no challenge could be denied. Yeosang had lost and then he had left, he hadn’t said a word—no ‘goodbye’, no ‘see you later’, no ‘I’ll come back’— _nothing_. 

Mingi sometimes wondered if he had lost on purpose.

“Why are you challenging me?” Mingi asked the stranger.

The tinted glass was directed at him for a long time, it was uneasy. Discomfort grew in Mingi, some of his limbs jerking as he was so tense. He didn’t like this unnamed and masked rider.

The challenger didn’t answer but he removed his leather glove, pulling it a bit over his fingertips until his wrist was visible. There was a heart there, made of ink. 

Mingi tilted his head in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

The mysterious rider did not answer, shaking his head. He pulled the glove back on.

“What is your price? What do you want?”

The stranger pulled out a piece of paper.

All it said was: _If I win, I want my heart back. If I lose you can keep it._

Chills ran up Mingi’s arms, he swallowed thickly. He stored the paper in the front pocket of his racing jacket.

“Ready?!” shouted a loud voice. Jongho, he overwatched all races.

“Yes.” Mingi pulled on his helmet, securing it on his chin. He grabbed the handlebar tightly, revving the engine to fill the night with its hollering. The stranger mimicked him, a cloud of smoke expanding behind them.

“Set!” Jongho yelled over all the noise.

Mingi leaned forward, readying himself. He let go of everything earthly, anything that tied him one way or another to his existence. He had to be free, become one with the wind, one with the speed.

The mysterious rider was leaning forward too. He looked like an arrow, thin and elegant, ready to shoot forward and pierce the air.

“ _Go_!” Jongho cried, stepping aside and waving the flag.

Like lightning bolts both bikers lunged forward into the night, thunder accompanying them. 

“Do you know what the Wild Hunt is?” Yeosang had once asked him.

“No.”

“It’s a myth. They’re lost souls—hunters—that ride in the sky, lightning and thunder at their feet as they roam the lands. They bring havoc and—”

Mingi had started laughing. “Do you believe in that?”

Yeosang had scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “No, of course not.” He had shoved Mingi’s shoulder, who slowly had sobered up, but a smile still had been on his face—like there always was when he was with Yeosang. “The hunters are trapped souls, unable to leave the Wild Hunt.”

“That’s sad.”

“Sometimes I feel like them. Trapped and unable to leave,” Yeosang had confessed in a small voice. “Trapped in the Wild Hunt.”

Mingi had immediately understood that Yeosang meant the racing. He had blanched, his heart aching a little. “You don’t have to stay here.”

Yeosang had smiled at him, something sad and intangible. “Oh, but I do. My heart is here, I cannot leave it behind.”

The wind whirled past Mingi, bounced off his back as if he had wings. They were neck to neck, their headlights splitting the night, the gravel was a ghostly white. 

Mingi thought of the mysterious rider’s words scribbled on the paper. They sparked a sense of familiarity in him, a clue to the stranger’s identity, but he refused to believe it. Ghosts didn’t just return, once they left they were gone for good— _taken_.

The bike rattled and shook underneath him, its vibrations shook every cell and bone in Mingi’s body; it was exhilarating. It had been a while since he had raced such a good rider, it made him feel awake and present. When they reached the finish line, he couldn’t tell which of the two was ahead, but it did not matter to him. All he wanted was to reveal the identity of the stranger, confirm his suspicions.

Jongho was waiting at the finish line, the flag raised high over his small body. San stood by his side, a camera in his hand to film the last seconds and determine who would win.

Mingi slowed his bike down the moment he whirled past Jongho, the black and white of the flag shimmering in the corner of his eyes. He parked his bike, jumping off. His legs were shaking a bit, it wasn’t unusual. He removed his helmet, letting it rest on his bike’s seat. He ran a hand through his dark, sweaty hair. The cool wind was a welcoming touch.

The mysterious rider hadn’t parked that far, still sitting on his bike. He was watching Mingi through the tinted glass.

“Who won?” Mingi asked, turning his face towards San.

San looked conflicted, playing with the camera. Jongho was peering down at the screen, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“San?” Mingi questioned, approaching him.

The mysterious rider followed him; even if he was still wearing his helmet, Mingi liked to believe he was just as curious about the result. Of course he was, _If I win I want my heart back._ Mingi did not really understand the meaning behind those words, but the heart was no small price.

“It seems that you have crossed the finish line at the exact same time,” Jongho spoke up, uneasy.

“That’s impossible,” the stranger spoke, his voice deep and painfully familiar.

Mingi froze, turning to face the mysterious rider. “Yeosang?” he choked out. “Is that really you?”

Yeosang stayed quiet for a moment. Jongho and San watched him with wide eyes. They had only heard rumors of him: the rider that had stolen the king’s heart. 

With slow and careful hands, Yeosang unlatched his helmet, removing it. His dirty blonde, curly hair spilled around his face, sweaty and fluffy at the same time. The wind swirled through it, making Yeosang a terrifying image. His dark eyes were serious and sad looking, he glared at Jongho.

“Someone has to have won!” he insisted, completely ignoring Mingi.

Jongho shook his head, blinking in surprise. “No.”

“We both win and lose,” Mingi said. “Then I get to keep your heart.” 

Yeosang turned his head in his direction, now glaring at him. “That is not fair.”

“Oh, but it is,” Mingi continued. “You have mine and have yours.”

The words made Yeosang stagger backwards, his eyes widening and all of the strained emotions vanishing. He looked hopeful then. “What do you mean?”

“Yeosang; I’ve loved you for so long. When you left… It hurt. _It hurt so much_. I thought that was your way of saying you didn’t care,” he confessed. “I thought I would never see you again; that you were gone for good. You once said that those in the Wild Hunt can’t leave, but for me it felt the other way around. When you left, it was as if you had been taken by the lost souls, never to return again.”

Yeosang stared at him, his face colored with many emotions, flickering. 

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Mingi.” He looked down.

Mingi placed his hand under Yeosang’s chin, lifting his face up. He smiled at him. “It’s okay. I didn’t know either. But you are back now.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

They kissed then. The thunder of the engines and the wind of the speed still chasing them. Yeosang’s lips were cold and salty, and everything Mingi had yearned for all these years that he had ruled the race alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!
> 
> you can find me -> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hhhjoong) 💛


	7. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San loves Seonghwa, especially his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for another curiouscat anon hehe
> 
> A Sanhwa AU!! Again there was no setting so I decided to make an artist AU!! it's not much but i hope you enjoy it ^^

Ah, San loves Seonghwa.

He loves the color of his eyes, the way they shimmer in the morning sun when it’s 7AM and they’re seated in their small kitchenette, each with a mug of coffee, the radio turned on with their favorite channel playing. Seonghwa’s face always bears the lines of his pillow edged into his cheeks, and looks paler than usual, but the warmth and brightness in his eyes is all San can pay attention to. 

They usually don’t talk so early in the morning, enjoying their breakfast in comfortable silence. San often does Sudokus to get his brain started, and Seonghwa likes to read random articles on his phone. It’s their routine, for years now. 

It’s such a vulnerable state, one San never thought he would feel comfortable with outside the confines of his family, but with Seonghwa he doesn’t mind sitting in paint splattered sweatpants and a simple, white t-shirt, his black hair standing up in different direction, sleep still curling around the edges of his mind.

He used to feel so embarrassed when they first moved in together, five years ago.

Now this is one of his favorite moments of the day.

Just Seonghwa and him as the world wakes up, getting ready for their long days.

Seonghwa usually leaves at around 8:30AM for his office job, dressed in a suit, a messenger bag slung across his shoulder.

A chaste peck on San’s lips, his fingers resting on San’s waist, tapping twice (with his index and thumb), and then he draws away.

But on some mornings they get to eat breakfast until way past 10AM, slowly and enjoying every last splash of sunshine filtering through their window, like sunflowers moving with it from the kitchen to the living room, the radio gets turned off and the TV gets turned on.

San moves away from his Sudokus and onto his paint and canvas; Seonghwa moves away from his readings and onto working on his laptop.

With the slowness of the Sunday morning, sleep still prevailing over them, San begins a new project.

He tips his brushes in water and then in beige and light brown, mixing them together, and paints the first stroke. 

Usually he paints with outlines, an idea in his mind, but sometimes, once in a while, he just lets his heart take control, moving the brush over the canvas to take the form of whatever he is feeling, loving, yearning… 

After a while, he realizes he is painting hands. Seonghwa’s hands.

His slender yet short finger; his pinky fingers nearly as long as the index fingers. Seonghwa used to feel insecure about them, saying that they were ugly because they were too thick and short— _deformed_ , he used to say; not hands that could be loved. 

But San adores them. They create so much, cook with care and enthusiasm, they hush over the keyboard as though it is an instrument. 

When Seonghwa plays guitar, San thinks, that is where they look most at home. 

When Seonghwa passes his fingers through San’s hair, they are the most loving.

San doesn’t need to look at Seonghwa’s hands to know how to paint them, he knows them so well. They reside deep in his mind, in every corner.

The first thing San ever noticed about Seonghwa were his hands, beautifully chopping ingredients for a shared meal at Mingi’s birthday party so many years ago, teenagers still at the time. San had thought, back then, that he really wanted to paint them.

Young and unexperienced when it came to love, San asked Seonghwa, “Would you ever model for me? You have beautiful hands.”

Seonghwa’s response was an embarrassed and shy laugh. He looked down at his hands. “But they’re—I mean look at them.”

“I am,” San told him, his breath catching in his lungs because of how beautiful everything about Seonghwa was.

Caught off guard and still embarrassed, Seonghwa agreed.

Somewhere in their shared room there are old sketchbooks, from a time nearly forgotten if it wasn’t so important to the both of them, that are filled with Seonghwa’s hands, the slope of his nose, his playful lips, his eyes… Filled with an artist’s confession of love, San’s journey of discovering his feelings for Seonghwa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!
> 
> you can find me -> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hhhjoong) 💛


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